


You Can't Go Home Again

by TheMetaGuy



Category: Peanuts
Genre: Gen, Nostalgia, Philosophy, Ten Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMetaGuy/pseuds/TheMetaGuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving away several years ago, Charlie Brown and his family return to their hometown to visit the Van Pelts for Christmas. While there, Charlie Brown learns that sometimes the things that change most are the things you'd never expect to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nostalgia, Mixed With Regret, Mixed With Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> (Note: This story was originally posted solely on FF.net. My AO3 request just went through, so I'm posting it here as well. Any future works by me will be posted to both sites more or less at the same time.)
> 
> (Also, for the sake of clarity, this story takes place approximately ten years after the setting of the final strip of Peanuts.)

It’s been said that you can never go home again. That once you leave the place where you grew up, where you spend your childhood, where you met your dearest friends, it’s better to move on and forget it all in a heartbeat instead of going back. No sense opening old wounds or reliving painful memories.

Or at least, that’s what Charlie had always been told.

And yet even now, as his family’s car sped past a vaguely rusted old road sign that read “Now Entering Hennepin County,” he was doing exactly that: going back to the place that held so many bittersweet memories for him.

He gazed out the window as the buildings and greenery flew past. There was the old barbershop his father used to own—or rather, what once was the old barbershop his father used to own, as the property was now occupied by a rather pretentious-looking coffee shop. Funny how much time changes things, he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything left of the tiny little town he knew as a child.

As if on cue, the familiar brick fences and concrete sidewalks came into view. Another sign, this one in much better condition than the last, proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that yes, this was indeed Hennepin County, Minnesota. The boy sighed to himself, partly out of relief, but also from regret: regret of all that he had missed. If only things had gone differently.

A sharp snore broke his repose. He looked over at his sister, predictably sound asleep. Considering this entire trip was for her to begin with, one would normally have expected Sally to be a bit more enthusiastic; then again, it was likely just a side effect of winter break being more conducive to sleeping late combined with the nearly endless drive from Glenwood. Charlie couldn’t really complain; he’d dozed off himself at some point he couldn’t remember. She’d surely awaken when they got to their destination.

At last, the family pulled up to the rather unassuming hotel where they would be staying for the next few days. After helping unload the vehicle of its baggage, Charlie set out on foot for the last neighborhood they’d passed, one with a rather conspicuously short brick wall facing the street. Although it had been almost five years, he still knew the way.

It wasn’t long before he reached the street he was looking for. All at once, upon stepping once more onto the quiet roads of his hometown, it was as though a tidal wave of nostalgia and memories had flowed over him, crashing on and chipping away at the unforgiving rocks of his acquired cynicism. (Charlie then realized that that was actually a rather impressive, if slightly overblown, metaphor, and promptly filed it away in his mind for future use, perhaps in his next English paper or writing experiment.) He strode on past the suburbanite dwellings, some still as they were years ago, others completely unrecognizable.

Eventually, he reached his old house, the place where he’d lived for his entire juvenile life. He gazed at the old place, still as warm and inviting as ever. For a brief moment, he felt as if he could run right inside, just like he used to do, where he would find his mother making dinner and Sally writing another ill-advised essay for school. He would relax in the living room and watch his favorite TV show, before going out back to feed Snoopy before bedtime…just like it used to be. Just like it always should have been.

Realizing that he was probably causing whoever owned the house to freak out about the weird round-headed college kid staring in from the street, he morosely began to walk away, back to the hotel. But before he had taken even two steps in that direction, his ears picked up a rather familiar tone, one that they hadn’t heard in quite some time.

“So the ‘prodigal son’ returns at last.”

There was only one person Charlie Brown had met in his life who could speak with that exact mix of self-assured snark and legitimate empathy. He didn’t even need to turn around, but he did anyway, barely able to hold back a friendly smirk. “Maybe so,” he replied, “but where’s the fatted calf?”

“Wow, how ungrateful can you get?” Lucy’s face held an expression quite similar to Charlie’s, although her version was more fully broken in, having had years of prior use. “I mean, what did you expect? You can’t live somewhere your entire life, then suddenly move away for five, six years only to turn up again out of nowhere and expect a hero’s welcome.”

“Touché.”

“So I take it you got dragged along too, huh?” Lucy tugged at the strings of her blue hoodie. She was only about a year younger than Charlie, and yet somehow she still seemed like the preteen girl she’d been when he last saw her. Mostly, anyway. “Probably for the best, I guess. Linus is going to be so excited you guys are here a couple days early. He really wanted to see you, you know.”

“He really wanted to see Sally,” Charlie corrected her, as they started walking down the street in the opposite direction. “Ever since the two started long-distance dating three months ago, she’s been hogging Skype almost nonstop. She’s been driving all of us crazy.”

“No kidding. Linus has been the same way. Not that I’m complaining, since the only times he’s really happy these days is when he’s talking with her.”

“Hang on a second,” Charlie retorted, “since when do you care about your brother being happy?”

“Hey, knock it off.” She gave him a light playful shove. “Am I not allowed to worry about my own brother sometimes? Sheesh.”

Charlie started to respond, but decided against it. There really wasn’t much to say. It had come as a huge surprise when Linus had mentioned wanting him and Sally to come visit for Christmas. So much so, in fact, that Charlie had been somewhat leery of the idea, since it would have meant having to deal with Miss Fussbudget here once again. And yet whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.

“So who’s still here?” he asked, after a minute or two of silence. “Of the kids we used to hang out with, I mean.”

“Honestly? Just us.”

“Seriously? What about Franklin? Pig-Pen? Or Peppermint Patty and Marcie?”

“They all left.” Lucy said this with a slight hint of sadness. “Franklin and Pig-Pen moved out about the same time you did. We didn’t hear about it until later, though, since they both lived on the other side of town. Then Patty and Marcie left after them. I think Patty—well, ‘Patricia’, as she’s calling herself now—wound up in Ohio somewhere.”

“Whoa…” Charlie couldn’t believe it. He figured that at least a few of them would have moved away, but for all of them except the Van Pelts to just suddenly decide to move away…he couldn’t imagine it. “It had to have been hard, watching them all leave one after the other.”

Lucy sighed. “It really makes you think. One minute, you’re all playing around as children, completely oblivious to how the world works, and then the next minute you’re helping an old friend clean out their garage and load everything into a moving van.” She kicked a loose rock up the street. “It’d really make me cherish my friends more, if I had any real ones left.”

“What do you mean by that? What about high school?”

She looked at him nonplussedly. “Name one genuine, lifelong friend you made in high school.”

“Fair enough, I guess.” Charlie looked back down. He’d hoped to meet back up with all of his old friends while he was here, but that was clearly not in the cards. He couldn’t help but wonder if everyone would have stayed if he hadn’t left.

Lucy, as if reading his mind, said, “And no, you staying here wouldn’t have changed anything. Patty’s parents had talked about moving away for a while. So did most of the others’. The fact that you were the first to leave probably made it all happen faster, but they would have left anyway whether you were still around or not.”

“Well…I guess you’re right.” Charlie noticed that they were drawing close to the Van Pelt residence. They’d somehow managed to navigate their way there without really paying attention. Just a testament to him knowing the way by heart, he supposed.

Lucy must have noticed it too, since she immediately began to walk a bit slower. “Normally I’d invite you inside for some hot cocoa or something,” she said. “But Linus doesn’t know you guys are here yet, and I know you guys want to keep it a surprise.”

“That makes sense.” He paused uncertainly. “So…I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.” She turned and walked up the steps. Just before she reached the door, Charlie thought he heard her mutter something that sounded like: “Good ol’ Charlie Brown.”

He smiled feebly, then turned and walked back the way they had come. He never knew what to expect with Lucy, but he’d enjoyed today a lot more than he’d thought he would. He almost couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Almost.


	2. Insight Into the Relationship Between Siblings

The Van Pelts had always lived modestly, and even though their children were rapidly growing into that phase of their lives where they were making more noise and consuming more resources, never once had it occurred to their parents to relocate to a slightly larger abode. Nevertheless, this was probably for the best, as doing so might have negated the events of these few days entirely. In any event, even with three children, the Van Pelts were able to live in relative comfort, a fact which baffled Lucy considerably. Perhaps Rerun’s ongoing stint as an exchange student in Belgium had something to do with it; with one of their children currently making himself comfortable in Europe, their parents were able to focus more completely on their two elder children, who had of course remained stateside. Lucy didn’t much care for any particular explanation; all she really wanted was to get away from this godforsaken state as soon as possible. Minnesota had never been for her, anyway; once she finished up at the local community college in a few years, she was gone.

Rather than concerning ourselves with further exposition, however, it would be best for us to pick up where we last left Lucy. As she entered the main room of her home, she distinctly heard voices and laughter emanating from Linus’ room. Immediately deducing that her younger brother was once again on Skype with Sally (since that was the only person she knew he ever talked to besides her and his parents), she snuck closer to the doorway, trying to avoid being heard. She did this all the time; it was often funny to listen to Linus making a fool of himself in front of the girl he’d not so long ago completely despised.

“...So anyway, Sally,” he was saying, “were you able to work out a plan to come out here for Christmas?”

“Oh, Linus,” came the reply, in a sad tone that wasn’t entirely fake. “I tried my best, but my parents wouldn’t let me. I guess it was just too far. Brother’s home for winter break, and I guess they just wanted to have some time with all of us together. Sorry…” Even though Lucy knew this story to be patently false, she did admire the fact that she was at least trying to keep the secret alive.

“Oh…” Linus sounded deflated. “Well…I guess that’s how it goes. It just wasn’t in His plan, I guess.”

“Yeah…but at least we can still talk to each other on Christmas, right?”

“Of course, of course. I have to go, but we’ll talk again soon, okay?”

“Okay! Love you, sweet babboo!”

“Love you too,” Linus chuckled as he ended the call. It was all so saccharine that Lucy couldn’t help but feel sick. Who even decided that this would be a thing anyway?

Suddenly, she heard Linus say: “Okay, Lucy, I know you’re there. You can stop hiding now.”

Lucy chuckled mischievously as she strode into the room. “How do you always know I’m there?” she asked, somewhat rhetorically. She tousled her brother’s hair. “It’s like you’re some kind of psychic or something.”

“I am not,” he said, completely missing the joke, as always. “I just know you well enough to know when you’re up to something.”

"What?” Lucy gasped in fake shock. “How could you say something like that? Have you no faith in your big sister?”

“It isn’t a joking matter, Lucy. How am I to know that you aren’t secretly preparing for another one of your pranks?”

“Oh, come on. I got you good enough with the last one that I’m set for a while. Relax a little.”

Linus rolled his eyes. “Well, fine. But if we have another mishap like that, I won’t be happy. I’m still cleaning shaving cream out of my ears from that one, you know.” He twirled in his chair. “So anyway, where have you been?”

“Oh, you know, just on a walk. It’s actually a nice day out, at least by most standards. You should have come with me, maybe got some fresh air. It would have been good for you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on. You need to do something besides moping around your room all day. It isn’t healthy to feel so down about everything.”

“I’ll be fine, Lucy. I’m just going through a rough patch…” He sighed. “This, too, shall pass. It’s like it says in Psalms: ‘The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles.’”

“Psalms 34:17.” Lucy had heard him recite this verse countless times in recent weeks; it had become a mantra of sorts. Hardly Christmassy in her opinion, but this was Linus; he could find Biblical meaning in just about everything. For all she knew, he had a verse prepared for every scenario he could possibly encounter. She wasn’t quite sure if that spoke more to his spirituality or to his stubbornness. It didn’t matter, honestly. “Look, I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But try to do _something_ to make yourself happier, won’t you?”

Linus sighed again. “Okay, I’ll try. But I don’t know what good it’ll do. It’s getting harder every day.” He turned back to his desk, where his Bible lay open. He flipped through it a bit, before coming to a specific page he’d dog-eared. “’Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand…’”

Lucy left quietly as he continued to read the verse. She knew he was doing his absolute best to cope with his loneliness—or at least what he claimed to everyone else to be loneliness. But he could be so stupid at times. How could he be so lonely when he had his family all around him?  And surely, as a senior in high school, he had enough social ability to have at least a few friends to his name...right?

At least she could take comfort in the fact that before too long, he’d learn that his girlfriend and his old best friend were in town. It seemed almost cruel to keep the secret, especially considering recent developments, but a promise was a promise. Even though she didn’t quite understand it, maybe there was some sort of solace to be taken in that after all. As silly as this whole Christmas thing seemed to her now, Lucy couldn’t help but be reminded of the Christmas pageants she and her friends all put on as a child. Back then it was so much easier; nobody ever worried about people moving away or leaving. It was a simpler time.

Simplicity was something that had been sorely lacking the last few years, but with any luck, maybe a little bit would come back soon.


	3. An Interlude With The Roughneck

“Hey, Reichardt! Get in here!”

“Gimme a minute, Paul!” The young lady had just clocked in at Steve’s Auto Repair. Despite being the only female on staff, Patricia was easily more knowledgeable in automotive matters than half of her coworkers combined, and yet received the least respect of any of them. Never mind that she was a female high school dropout with only as much experience as she’d gotten in trade school. The fact was, she was owed at least a little dignity, seeing as half her job was cleaning up the screw-ups her colleagues were prone to making.

Patricia finished changing into her work uniform, a standard-issue striped shirt with “Patty” emblazoned on a patch near her collarbone (she’d been meaning to request one with her full name, since being referred to by her childhood nickname was more demeaning than anything else), then headed into the garage area. Sidling up to her supervisor, a short, balding man in his late forties, she asked, “So what’s the story this time?”

“Just a standard oil change and tire rotation this time,” Paul shouted over the noise of the garage, in his usual far-too-uptight-for-a-job-like-this manner. “’Cept the lady wanted us to check the spark plugs too. Says she doesn’t trust the ex-husband to fix them properly.”

“I know that feeling.” She didn’t really know that feeling; she just wasn’t sure how else to respond.

Paul raised an eyebrow. “You just make sure you don’t botch this one, yeah? We don’t want another fiasco like the Miata from last week.”

Patricia rolled her eyes. “Cut me a little slack. It’s not like I could’ve known the guy’s toddler put a block of cheese in the gas tank.”

“Whatever. You just better be careful. One more issue and you’re in deep, got it?” Her manager scowled and walked away, leaving Patty to her work before she could even respond. She sighed, and got to work.

As she worked, she reflected, as she often did, about how her life got to this point. Where had it gone wrong? Why hadn’t she paid more attention in school? Maybe then she could have done something with her life. If she’s been more like Marcie, maybe she’d be a success.

Ah, Marcie. It had been a long time since Patty had heard from her closest friend. The girl who used to follow her around like a lost puppy, and yet here she was, looking up to her old friend as a role model. Times sure had changed. Not like Marcie had become any different, mind you; she’d somehow managed to graduate college without even having to set foot in high school. To top that, she graduated summa cum laude with a degree in medicine! At seventeen! And this wasn’t at some nondescript community college, mind you; this was at Vanderbilt, also known as that snooty southern school where you probably couldn’t get in unless you had a GPA higher than Einstein’s IQ. Even now, she was probably wowing those tightwads at Cambridge, wherever that was. Patty didn’t really remember. All she knew was, Marcie was everything she could never have been, and she couldn’t help but be a bit jealous.

And then there was Charlie. Good ol’ Chuck. She’d used to mess with him from time to time–he was always so easy to tease–but truth be told, she kind of missed him. Mostly because she needed a punching bag, but also because, well, he actually _got_ it. Whatever “it” was. There’d always been something behind all that wishy-washy “eternal loser” business, but she never was able to figure out what. He’d helped her through some really tough times, and made failing school a little less painful. If he and Marcie showed up together on her doorstep, even for only one day, she’d probably be the happiest person on earth.

As the day went on, Patty endured the usual bevy of thankless criticism, passive-aggressive snarkfests with the other guys, and an all-too-tiny paycheck at the end of it all. _Looks like another less-than-spectacular Christmas at the Reichardt house_ , she thought to herself as she drove home, the darkening sky reflecting her mood. But then again, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all; if there was anything Charlie had taught her, it was that Christmas is as good as you want it to be, no matter what the circumstances are.

And Patty wanted a whole lot this year.


	4. Friendly Reunion

Charlie spent the majority of the next day enduring his parents driving around town reestablishing the few ties they had left in this small hamlet. Over a few hours of this process, he had fielded the same inane small-talk questions from curious, well-meaning not-quite-acquaintances who wished to know every minute detail of his life over and over again: if he was doing well in school (he’d graduated high school at the top of his class and was majoring in English at the University of Minnesota, and yes, he actually was planning to be a writer, instead of something “more useful”), whether he had a girlfriend (he had for almost four months, thank you very much), when he was planning on coming back to try and reopen the “family business” (never, and he wasn’t really certain whether being a barber could be considered a “family business” in the first place), and so on. The only even remotely interesting part of the day had been when Sally was asked about what it was like to be in high school.

“Oh, it’s all right, I guess,” she had said. “But I don’t know why they called it that, though. It doesn’t look very high to me.”

Sally had not become more skilled in the art of common sense during her time in high school, apparently. _At least she’d fit right in at college_ , Charlie thought.

Fortunately for Charlie, his patience with the seemingly endless interviews paid off when it reached dinnertime, as it was then when they were supposed to meet the Van Pelts for dinner. It would be the first time he’d seen Linus in person since he’d moved away. Even though they’d been good friends and confidants as children, though, he honestly wasn’t sure how it would go.

Charlie and Linus had been very close for more or less the entirety of their respective childhoods. But ever since the Browns had left, Charlie hadn’t heard anything about how he had been. He’d heard him talking to Sally on occasion, but something always seemed off about how he was acting. It was the same spiritual, wise-beyond-his-years Linus he’d known growing up, but more and more it began to sound as though he’d become discouraged, as if he was starting to doubt himself. Normally, this could have been dismissed as a lingering side effect of going through high school, but from what he’d heard, whatever Linus was dealing with sounded deeper than just bog-standard high school angst. The weighty sighs and long pauses that overtook his otherwise cheerful discourse with Sally had to be symptomatic of something ponderous gnawing away at his soul.

Charlie then decided that next time he pondered something like this, he would try to use a narrative voice that wasn’t so overly dramatic.

The family piled back into the car—having completed the final leg of the prolonged reunion tour they’d embarked on—and drove to the other side of town, toward an area that Charlie couldn’t quite remember ever having seen as a child. It was probably a product of the town’s expansion during the five years he’d been gone. The car came to a rest in the parking lot of what appeared to be a small, family-owned Italian restaurant by the name of “Castucci’s.” Sally had dozed off again somehow (Charlie had always wondered how she got to sleep so fast), so Charlie was the first one out of the car as his parents tried to rouse the girl. The Van Pelts were already out front, and as a result, as he was getting out of the car, Charlie was able to look straight into his old friend Linus’ face.

There’s quite a lot of debate as to whether multiple emotions can truly be expressed simultaneously by a single person; some argue that the human body can only reliably represent one emotional response at a time, thus meaning that someone claiming to have seen someone exhibit even complementary emotions at rates of greater than one at a time were simply mistaken, instead progressing through each apparent emotion displayed at a fast yet still sequential pace. But Charlie could have sworn that as he saw Linus from halfway across the parking lot, he noticed no less than four different expressions on his friend’s face in that moment, in no particular order at all: shock, joy, confusion, and relief.

He made his way forward through the mostly-deserted parking lot toward the family. Lucy (who, in case it wasn’t clear, was obviously there as well) stepped forward as Charlie drew close. Turning toward her younger brother, she said, with a tone somewhere between triumphant, mischievous, and amused, “Surprise.”

Charlie couldn’t help but smile. He extended his hand. “Hey, Linus. Good to see you again.”

He tried to say this, at least, but Linus had become so overcome with emotion that he had run forward and pulled Charles into a tight hug. After a moment of surprise, Charles couldn’t help but return it.

In that hug, it seemed as though Linus was telling a story—not just any story, but his own; his fears, his doubts, his frustrations—everything that had held him back seemed to have gone into the hug, and just as quickly had melted away. In a way, Charlie, too, felt just a little more secure, knowing that he was finally able to see his best friend again.

As they finally broke apart, Charlie had so many things he wanted to ask—questions that, on further inspection, were actually quite similar to the questions he’d only just a little while ago shunned as annoying. But before he could begin, he was interrupted by a high-pitched noise coming up from behind. He turned just in time to see a blonde and blue blur charging past him, and when he looked back, he saw Linus on the ground, having been glomped by a squealing Sally. He sighed and looked at Lucy, who was failing to stifle a giggle.

The party at last was able to pry the two apart and dust off Linus. Then they all went into the restaurant. They had a lot of catching up to do.


	5. Broken Faith, Mended Hope

As it turned out, catching up was a lot less informative than Charlie had hoped.

Linus had remained mostly quiet throughout the dinner, only speaking when spoken to, mostly by Sally. Charlie had managed to get in one question early in the evening—with which he was able to find out that Linus had been feeling very down lately for some reason—but after that, it was all noise. Charlie’s dad told a few of his many well-worn jokes, at which Mr. Van Pelt laughed hard enough to draw a dirty look from the proprietor every now and then. Mrs. Brown for some reason was obsessed with asking how Rerun was doing in Belgium, and Lucy couldn’t help but roll her eyes as her mother heaped seemingly endless praise on the boy for adapting so well to the culture. As the parents ran out of things to discuss midway through the main course of the meal, Charlie excused himself to get some fresh air.

Once outside, he sat on the curb and took a deep breath, his head in his hands. This wasn’t going how he’d hoped. All he’d wanted was to talk with Linus and possibly help him feel better, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. He’d completely missed his chance. An old, familiar sense of failure washed over him. Why had he even bothered agreeing to come on this trip? He should have known that it would be pointless. Just like everything he did.

“Hey.”

Charlie snapped back to reality just in time to hear Linus’ voice. Turning back to see the boy standing over his shoulder, he said, “Oh…Hey.”

Linus sat on the curb next to him. “I couldn’t hear myself think in there. I got kind of tired of listening to them talking about Rerun so much, so I came out here. Is everything all right?”

Charlie sighed. “I’m fine. I just…” He looked out at the parking lot. “I really wanted to find out what you meant when you mentioned you weren’t feeling so well recently. Did something happen, or…?”

Linus shrugged. There was an odd look of resignation in his eyes. “No, not really…I’ve just been feeling kind of sick, honestly. Not sick in the sense that I feel physically ill, but in the sense that something really isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” He looked around, before saying, in a hushed voice, “I…honestly don’t know if God really exists anymore.”

Charlie was shocked. He would have expected something like this from anyone else, but…Linus? The single wisest, most spiritual person he’d ever known? “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he stammered, trying to hide his disbelief.

“You don’t have to pretend you saw something like this coming, Charlie Brown. I know I was always one of the most Biblically astute people in our little circle as a kid. I feel like I shouldn’t be thinking stuff like this, but…I am.”

The shock had subsided a bit, and Charlie was calmer now. “But…why? Did something happen?”

“Not really. It wasn’t so much a sudden epiphany as a logical conclusion. Having studied the facts and put it into context with the modern state of events, one day I discovered that maybe there’s no way to explain all this away with the Bible. Maybe evangelical Christianity is…wrong.”

“But whatever happened to standing by your beliefs?”

“There’s a difference between standing by one’s beliefs and refusing to take the outside world into account,” Linus replied. “You can stay true to the overarching tenets of your beliefs, while making small adjustments to keep them compatible with everything else.”

Charlie remained quiet. He could certainly relate to how Linus was feeling. He’d had questions like this for some time now, just like his friend; and yet, Linus’ scenario seemed more critical.

The boy continued: “When I first started thinking about these things, I was kind of scared. I worried that if I told anyone about them, or if I asked someone for help, they’d think I was a heretic or something. You’re not supposed to have questions. You’re just supposed to go on knowing all these things, like they’re second nature. Like it’s taken for granted that they’re true.” He paused, looking away, before adding: “But in the end, it doesn’t really matter, does it? People will judge you no matter what you believe.”

“Have you tried telling Lucy? Or your parents?”

Linus shook his head. “My parents would react worst of all. All this time I’ve been afraid of what they would say if their eldest son was straying from the flock. In a way, I managed to convince myself that I was just imagining all of these worries. I started reciting all these obscure Bible verses to myself and to others, as if I was trying to prove that since I studied it this much, and I knew it this well, it just _had_ to be real…but it didn’t work. I had just as many questions as I started with, if not more.”

“What about Lucy?”

“Oh, she knows,” Linus said. “I made her promise not to tell anyone, but…I don’t know what she thinks of me because of it. She hasn’t changed toward me, but maybe she secretly thinks less of me now…she can’t respect me now, assuming she ever could.” He stood up. “I don’t know what to do now. I have to tell my parents at some point, but what do I say? How do I keep them from hating me? What should I do to tell them that I don’t know what to believe?”

Charlie stood up as well. “Calm down,” he said. “You’re overreacting a bit…I don’t think Lucy thinks any less of you. And neither will your parents.”

Linus sniffed. Tears were forming in his eyes. “But what if they do? What if they think that I’m a terrible person for not thinking the way they think, or if they condemn me for not being steady in my faith?”

“They won’t.” Charlie put his hand on Linus’ shoulder. “Linus, you’re the most forward-thinking person I know. You’ve never let anything stop you from believing what you feel like believing. Remember the time you tried to make the library stock that children’s book that got banned? Or when you were trying to convince all of us that the Great Pumpkin made the rounds giving out presents every Halloween?”

“That’s different,” Linus replied, trying to hold back his tears. “I was a little kid back then.”

“But that’s the point. Even though you were just some blanket-toting little kid by most standards, we all looked up to you. You wouldn’t let anything get in the way of believing whatever needed believing in. I’m sure even your parents looked at you and thought, ‘Our son is going to be a steadfast, loyal young man one of these days.’ You aren’t betraying them just because you have questions. It just proves that you’re thinking for yourself, which is what you’ve always done. You aren’t a bad person. You just believe things that maybe others haven’t come around to believing yet.”

Linus stood quietly for a few minutes. Then he looked at Charlie, and hugged him once again. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You’re an amazing friend, Charlie Brown. I’m glad I know you.”

Charlie smiled, returning the hug. “I’m glad I know you too.”

They remained in the embrace for several silent moments. Breaking away at last, Linus spoke once more, with a newfound determination that sounded like the kid he used to be.

“You’re right…maybe I’m worrying too much. They aren’t going to stop loving me just because I have questions about things. And even if it turns out that God isn’t real after all…at least I’ll still have friends like you.”

Charlie said nothing, but exhaled happily. As they stood there, outside the dingy Italian restaurant, he knew that Linus was going to be all right.

And at the end of the day, that’s all he really wanted.


	6. Another Interlude with the Prodigy

“Okay, people, one more time. One, two, three—“

Music poured forth from the garage of a well-to-do home in southeast Wisconsin. The surprisingly little-known alt-alt-rock band, “Final Movement,” was holding what would mercifully be its last group rehearsal before Christmas.

One’s first reaction to the cacophony would have been to immediately stuff the nearest soft and/or insulating object into their ear and go about their business; however, upon further inspection, the only saving grace of the music was its melodious keyboard tones, which somehow managed to outstrip even the murderous wailing of the lead guitar in terms of memorability. In fact, one could say that if all other elements were removed from the ill-advised attempt at songwriting, the keyboard part alone could be quite a serviceable melody, all things considered.

This fact, of course, did not sit well with the band’s _de facto_ leader, a staunch believer in the old axiom: “when in doubt, guitar solo.” After a few more bars of simulating an angry cat attempting to claw a chalkboard, the young man cut the rehearsal short.

“Okay, dude,” he said, whirling around to face the keyboardist, “seriously, what is your problem? I already told you, keyboard is supposed to be in the _background_!”

The keyboardist, a tall, blond young man whose given name was unknown to a large majority of people, fired back: “Well, maybe some of us like making actual music every now and then, eh?”

The frontman gritted his teeth. “I told you a thousand times, man. People don’t wanna hear you playing your little scales and arpeggicles—arpertures—”

“Arpeggios,” corrected the keyboardist wearily.

“Whatever, Piano Boy. They don’t wanna hear that. They wanna hear guitar, and a lot of it. That’s what it’s all about, know what I mean?”

The kid sighed. He’d had this fight before, and no matter what, he could never get through to the guy. You’d think he’d be a bit more gracious; after all, his parents didn’t _have_ to let them use their garage to practice every week while they were out of town. He was honestly beginning to question the mental state of all those artists who’d allegedly sold their souls for musical fame. If they’d had to deal with this, then he couldn’t see how it was worth it.

The singer glared at Schroeder a bit longer, as if pretending to be an alpha male re-establishing dominance over the pack beta. At last he spoke:

“Right. I don’t think we’re gonna get it any better than that for now. We’ll meet up again next week. We play at the Coliseum in two weeks, people. Get it together.”

The other band members launched into action like someone had pressed fast forward. In a flash, they were packed up and driving away. Before long Schroeder was alone. He packed up his keyboard and went back inside, savoring his well-earned quiet.

How he suffered for his art.

He’d never really been one for the showiness of the grand stage; he always preferred to play in a more low-key, calm atmosphere, where people weren’t screaming or moshing or whatever it is they do at concerts. He’d only joined a band because, well, it seemed like the thing to do in high school. The marching band didn’t have room for a keyboardist, and even if they had Schroeder knew that it was a terrible idea to march around with a large electronic keyboard attached to a strap on the shoulder. Even someone as devoted as he was wouldn’t dare risk breaking a hip—or worse.

He proceeded through his home’s kitchen to the main atrium, at the far end of which sat a baby grand piano. Schroeder had always admired the craftsmanship that went into these machines; this one, from a German company he’d never previously heard of, was exceptionally well-made.

As he sat at the bench in front of the piano, he was astonished at how much it reminded him of his old toy piano from his childhood. That old thing had worn out years ago, and yet his parents still hung on to it for whatever reason. Schroeder figured it was because they were practicing for the “empty nest” period that was rapidly approaching, especially since there were so many memories associated with that little piano. Memories of Beethoven, of friends, of Christmas pageants and dancing beagles…

Of her.

He’d been in contact with Lucy ever since he moved away, of course. They’d remained friends to this day, especially since Lucy had finally moved on from seeing him as an object of her affection. Probably for the best. Yet as he thought more about it, Schroeder couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if things had ended up differently, if he hadn’t been so cold to her as a child. He almost wished she were here now, leaning against the back of the piano like she used to do, asking some good-naturedly inflammatory question about why he thought Beethoven was so great. It used to be annoying, but in retrospect, maybe it had been more of an inspiration than anything. A call to prove her wrong, perhaps. Whatever the method, there was no doubt that she’d been the reason he still even bothered to play.

As he continued thinking about these things, his fingers began to depress the keys, softly, but with the delicate emphasis that comes with years of experience. As he became surer of himself, he molded the notes into a tender, familiar melody. It was a refrain he’d played countless times in the past, yet still returned fresh to his ears every time he sat down to play. In that instant, there was nothing but him and the music; it had swept him away, and he and it were one.

At last, he played the final notes. They lingered there for a moment in the echoing room, before fading to silence. He took a deep breath. Maybe he’d been misguided all along. Maybe it wasn’t really about fame after all, but art instead. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need a band to make music.

He cracked a smile as he punched in his soon to be ex-bandmate’s number. Just like Beethoven would have wanted it.


	7. The Kicker

Christmas has a way of bringing old memories—both good and bad—back to the forefront for an encore. As the Browns and the Van Pelts cleaned up from the recurring Christmas carnage, it had become abundantly clear to Charlie that this had indeed been the case once again. As the adults had settled in for a round of coffee and Linus and Sally were watching television together, the two elder children had emigrated to the backyard, where they were currently in the midst of a quite philosophical debate.

“I still don’t understand why people always insist on giving me gifts every year,” said Charlie, tossing a football at Lucy. “I think I’ve long passed the point where I really want anything.”

Lucy deftly caught the ball with one hand. “It’s more of a symbol than anything, really,” she said. “The whole ‘Meaning of Christmas’ and all that. I guess it’s just a matter of taking what you can get and not being ungrateful.” She threw the ball back to him.

“But it’s a little unnecessary, don’t you think? I mean, once you get to, say, fifteen or sixteen, you really don’t have a use for stuff like toys or games. Even clothes, really.”

“Still, it’s nice to get stuff, isn’t it? One less thing you have to buy yourself, right?”

Charlie shrugged. “I guess. Still feels weird, though.”

The two continued to play catch in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Lucy spoke up again.

“You know, I never have gotten what I _really_ want for Christmas. Every year, I’ve asked for a little plot of prime real estate in a suburb somewhere nearby, but it never happens. I don’t see why not. I’m a full-grown adult now, after all.”

“What would you even _do_ with real estate?” chuckled Charlie.

“Who said I had to _do_ anything with it? It’d just be a nice, tiny little plot that I could keep up with and develop how I see fit, and then when the time comes and I’m a Hollywood actress in need of a financial boost, I could just sell it off and make tons of money. I wouldn’t even need to make movies anymore, really; I’d sell it for so much that it would support me the rest of my life!” She was clearly wandering into the realm of absurdity, and she knew it, but that didn’t stop her from cracking a smile as she continued. “And then when I marry Leonardo DiCaprio we can just buy it back for a bargain and retire there. It’d be perfect!”

They were both laughing now. It was almost like they were children again, without having to worry about growing up or moving away or losing touch. It was as though they’d found a way to travel back to a simpler time, one where there was no such thing as “goodbye”, no concept of even semi-permanent separation. As far as they were concerned, those few moments were like a time capsule, suddenly unsealed and presenting at last the memories they’d left behind.

They fell silent again for a few more minutes. At last, Lucy, having caught the ball, got an idea. Getting down on one knee, she held the football against the ground. “Hey,” she asked, “remember how I used to hold the football for you to kick, and then always pulled it away from you at the last second?”

Charlie groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Heh. Hey…you want to try it one more time?”

Charlie thought for a moment. “Wait. How do I know you aren’t just going to do it to me again, the way you always used to?”

Lucy pouted. “Oh, come on. You know I’m not the same way I used to be. I would never do that to you now. Don’t you trust me?”

“I remember that the last time I trusted you, I nearly broke my neck. And the time before that, too.”

“Pleeeeease?” Her pout had turned up to eleven now. She was obviously doing her best to try and convince him. Could she really be sincere this time?

Charlie thought a bit longer. At last, he gave in. “All right, fine,” he said. “But if you pull the ball away, I won’t be happy.”

Lucy beamed. “Got it! Just head down there and just start running whenever you’re ready.” She seemed unusually happy—well, unusually in the sense that she was never quite _this_ energetic when he agreed to let her hold the ball for him.

Charlie retreated to the far end of the yard. Had he really gotten himself into this again? When would he ever learn? Then again, as he considered the options, maybe there was a chance she would keep it steady after all. She hadn’t been anything resembling openly antagonistic during this trip. There was little evidence supporting his assumption that she’d do exactly the same thing as every other attempt.

Come to think of it, there hadn’t been much evidence denying it, either.

He started jogging forward. There wasn’t much else he could do, really. She hadn’t reached her other hand toward the ball yet, which was a good sign. But did that necessarily mean she wouldn’t pull it away?

The gap closed, and he was now only feet away. There was still time for him to cut it short. He debated doing so for a split second, but equally quickly dismissed the idea. He may as well go through with this.

As he drew closer and closer, he didn’t particularly care whether Lucy pulled it away or not. All he knew was that he’d finally found his true self again, and nothing could ever take that away again.

He was going to kick that ball clear to the moon.


	8. Farewell For Now

The final day of the visit had come almost too quickly—for this trip was to be exceedingly short, thanks in part to the bevy of other required travels facing both the Brown and the Van Pelt families. Charlie’s family was headed back home for a few days, before flying out to Pasadena to visit his grandmother for New Year’s, while Linus and Lucy were leaving for Duluth the next day to see their aunt and uncle. Before they left, the Browns made one final stop at their friends’ house to say adieu.

Sally couldn’t contain herself from crying as she embraced Linus. Copious sniffles and promises to talk even more often than before were exchanged, and at last Sally scrambled into the backseat, wiping tears from her eyes.

Charlie, having witnessed the scene from the background, strode forward and held out his hand to Linus. “So long, Linus,” he said. “Remember what we talked about.”

Linus smiled as he returned the handshake. “I will. I promise.”

Charlie then turned to Lucy. “Well…take care of yourself, I guess. Be good to Linus, will you?”

Lucy snorted in an amused fashion. “Heh. Good joke.” Her snark softened, and she grabbed him and pulled him into a hug.

Charlie wasn’t sure how to react. It was the first time she’d ever hugged him, so he didn’t really know what to say. At last he wrapped his arms around her in kind. He heard her whisper something to the effect of: “You blockhead.”

After what seemed like forever, they separated. Charlie said his goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Van Pelt, and at last joined Sally (once again, sound asleep before the car was even moving) in the back seat. A few minutes later, they were all headed down the highway.

Charlie looked out the window just in time to see a sign that said: “Now Leaving Hennepin County—Come Back Soon!” He nestled into his seat in preparation for the journey ahead. Reflecting on the last few days, he realized that he didn’t have to worry about coming back to his hometown after all.

He could go there anytime he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it: my first foray into the realm of Peanuts fanfiction. Let me know what you think; any feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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